


Snowflakes in the Heaven Afar

by deltachye



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Other, Reader-Insert, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 19:51:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8635933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x yuri plisetsky]He was beautiful and fragile; dazzling and pure. He twirled from the heavens but just like the snow, he would melt away the moment you touched him.





	1. [i ; stellar]

_ _

❝ _sometimes, the smallest things take up the most room in your heart._ ❞

* * *

 

_”Be good.”_

It was hard to be good when all you wanted to do was sob. Scary big kids and grown-ups whizzed past you on the ice, giving you curious looks as you stood stock-still in the centre of the rink. Your mother wasn’t able to go with you today but had insisted you go alone—but you were too scared by yourself. What if you fell? What if people laughed at you? No, you couldn’t. It was a mistake to come here. You would _make_ your sitter take you home right now—

“Oi.”

The gruff scowl about set you off into tears and you turned slowly, your toe pick scraping the ice as a boy glared at you. He had hair so blonde it looked white gold, and his crystalline green eyes seemed to shift colour the longer you looked. You cringed away from him, drifting to the rink board and clutching onto it like an anchor.

“Sorry,” you whispered meekly. The boy’s brow furrowed.

“English?” he asked hesitantly. His accent was heavy and clipped the vowels oddly. You realized that you’d been speaking in your native tongue and mentally berated yourself.

“Yes,” you replied, just as slowly in weak Russian. Your accent was probably mangling the words and you sniffled nervously. He scoffed, the action bringing a puff of foggy breath in front of his red nose.

“How old are you?” he demanded. You jumped in panic when you recognized the question. The words were harsh in the unfamiliar language and you racked your brain, counting from один to… what was after три again? You gave up trying to remember at held up six gloved fingers instead. He nodded, seeming to understand, and held up seven.

“English is hard,” he muttered, along with something else in Russian. You were born to an English mother on English soil, but your father was a Russian official. After six years in the United Kingdom, your dad’s job called him back to the motherland, and you were having a hard time coping.

“Skate?” he spat at you, surprising you by not leaving you behind to do his own thing. You didn’t know why the boy was so interested in you. He looked like he was plenty fine on his own, too. Taking a closer look, you noted that his hair was frazzled and he wore a t-shirt with a purring kitten printed on the front. Nothing about you was exceptional. But he looked at you expectantly anyways, as if you were. You could’ve left him behind or ran away, but you found yourself hesitating again. There was something about him, a mysterious charm—like he was some stellar being that had graced you with his appearance. Your knees were quivering and you nodded, once, and then more firmly.

“Da.”

He pointed at himself. “Yuri Plisetsky.” The finger turned to you. You stared at it before looking back into his eyes.

“...[Name] [Surname].”

“OK,” he said, nodding once with authoritative approval for a seven year old. He blinked and his facial expression softened into curiosity as he held the same hand out to you. “Skate?”

You looked at it again, but it took you much less time to take it.

“...okay.”

That was how you had met Yuri Plisetsky, the most stellar boy you had been graced by. And that rink was where you lost him, too.


	2. [ii ; capped]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter titles are after types of snowflakes~

After meeting Yuri, you had a little more confidence to visit the rink every day. Your mother was surprised to see your interest in going by yourself when you had been so reluctant before.

“Have a crush?” she teased, to which you would blush and shake your head fervently. You didn’t know what a crush was at the time. All you knew was that boys had cooties and Yuri wasn’t _your_ anything—he was his own Yuri Plisetsky, and you were your own [Name] [Surname]. It was just good luck that the two of you happened across each other. He didn’t go to the same school as you but apparently went to that rink every single day, when it wasn’t closed for hockey or other activities. Yuri was a figure skater, though. He’d noticed your figure skates and that was why he had gone up to you. You didn’t skate all too well. You could, but in comparison to him, you might as well have strapped scissors to your feet. When you watched him it was like watching a dove take flight, or a swan glide across a frigid Siberian lake. He was beautiful, and you suddenly grew interested in the more technical components of ice dance.

“There are lots of types of jumps. I’ve been trying to do a Lutz but I keep falling.” Yuri spoke to you animatedly while he laced his black skates. He was always happiest when talking about skating. You’d asked him why he liked it so much, but his expression changed into something more sombre, so you had decided not to push it.

“You’ll get best soon,” you said encouragingly.

“Better,” he corrected. You blinked and felt heat creep up your neck, your skin warming in the chilled air of the arena.

“You’ll get _better_ soon,” you repeated slowly.

“Yeah.” 

Despite the fact that Yuri would make fun of your failed Russian or kick up a big fuss if you asked him to repeat something, he always would, and extra slowly to make sure you understood. One of your favourite pastimes was skating around the rink in simple circles with Yuri as he read the ads to you, drawing Cyrillic out on the ice with his blade. It was a symbiotic relationship, too. In return for your coaching in Russian, you helped teach Yuri English, correcting his pronunciation and teaching him slang from the west.

“By the way Yuri,” you brought up, reminded by your curiosity as you thought absentmindedly. “Why do you want to know English so bad?” He finished tying the knot on his skate with a flourished flick of the wrist. He pulled his blue-and-red skate protectors off and then gave you a strange look.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said very snootily in the tone you had learnt to be happy pride. “I need to know English if I’m going to compete in the Grand Prix.”

“Grand Prix?” you asked. He nodded, a light shimmering in the twin green irises.

“I’m going to get really good. I’m going to get better and…” he looked up for a second before saying in English, “I’ll be the best.”

You grinned. “Okay. I’ll help you, then.”

“I won’t need it,” he said haughtily, brushing past you towards the rink. He stopped a step away and looked behind for you expectantly. “But I’ll appreciate the effort.”

You giggled and followed, flicking him in the side of the head (as you were taller than him on your skates). “You’re cute,” you said in English, your tone sing-songy.

“I’m what?” he demanded. “I don’t know that one yet.”

“Nothing.”

“No, tell me!” 

“Not until you become the _best_ ,” you said with a wink, stepping onto the ice and skating with him, hand in hand.


	3. [iii ; fern]

“Yuri?!” you gasped, nearly dropping your pencil case on the ground as you loaded it into your cubby. He gave you a disinterested look.

“What.”

“We’re in the same class?!” you asked happily, leaning towards him. Graduating into the middle classes was an exciting time, but also quite scary. Your friends had been sorted into different homerooms so it was nice to see a friendly face. He took his hand, placed it on your face and shoved you away, ignoring your cries of protest.

“Don’t be so weird about it. It’s not like it means anything,” he muttered in a hasty sort of way. He glared at you as you rubbed your forehead. “You haven’t been coming to the rink lately.”

“What? Oh, yeah. I had to help my mom around the house since we moved. Why? You worried ‘bout me?” you teased.

“I see your Russian isn’t trash anymore,” he said under his breath, scowling deeply as a tinge of pink was betrayed on his pale sun-deprived skin. “And I wasn’t worried!” he snapped. “You just didn’t say anything so I thought you got eaten by bears. I was glad.”

“I think you _were_ worried!” You tried to get a close look at his face but he batted you away again. “Yuri was worried about me!”

“Shut up! I just got weirded out because a certain annoying girl wasn’t cheering on my every jump!”

You finished putting your things away and patted Yuri on the cheek. He’d suddenly grown taller than you over the years and you had to reach up to do it. He froze mid-sentence and stared at you when you kept your hand there, brow furrowing as you rubbed his skin.

“Your face is getting hot,” you mused, the soft curve of his cheek uncomfortably warm underneath your palm. “Make sure you don’t get sick, Yuri.” You took your hand away but he suddenly grabbed it, holding it in the air. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Come back to the rink,” he demanded in a soft voice, the two contradictory tones confusing you. 

“I will once I’m done moving,” you replied honestly, startled by the sudden display of vulnerability. He nodded and let go of your hand, your fingers suddenly missing the warmth as he stepped back.

“I’ll see you there,” he said dismissively, turning away to head into the classroom. You called his name and he stopped turning around. As he did you leant forwards on tippy-toes and kissed him right on the edge of his tall nose. His eyes were wide and you quickly withdrew, stepping back.

“You have your first competition coming up, right?” you stammered, your mental self berating yourself by screaming internally. “I-I wanted to wish you good luck for that.”

“You remembered?” he forced, his body frozen stiff. You clasped your hands behind your back awkwardly to hide their trembling and nodded.

“How could I forget? It’s your debut show, you said.”

“I was exaggerating… it’s just a local thing, nothing import—”

“It _is_ important!” you argued, cutting him off quickly. “It’s your first real show and I know you’ll do good! I’ll definitely be there, okay?” Realizing that the two of you were the only ones left in the cubby hall, you scratched your head and waited for him to say something, the embarrassment of what you’d just done rushing over you like a tide. Yuri took a while to process his thoughts, his eyes narrowing as he stared at you. His crippling gaze made you nervous.

“…Okay. That’s a promise, you hear me?! Don’t you dare back down on it!”

“I-I won’t!” you squeaked. 

“Okay,” he repeated again for some reason. He looked uncomfortable and then suddenly he was right in front of you, warmth pressed onto your forehead. And then he was gone.

“W-what?” you choked, staggering back from the unexpected embrace. Yuri was a bright red, the complexion contrasting hard against his fair hair. 

“It’s a promise!” he practically shouted, turning heel and booking it out the hall so that you were left alone with your head in your hands and the grin on your face.


	4. [iv ; twelve-branched]

“Yuri, are you okay?!”

You nearly fell over yourself as you rushed over to him, sliding on your knees and coming to a stop by his side. He rose unsteadily, shaking his head groggily. Ice clung to his hair and he squinted, disoriented. His foggy green eyes sharpened into focus and immediately he grimaced. 

“I’m fine,” he spat, after realizing that you were trying to touch him. He flung your hand away quite harshly, the bones of his wrist making the tender flesh of your arm sting. You bit back the concern and watched as he got back onto his feet, swiping snow off of his legs.

“Maybe you should take a break,” you suggested hesitantly. “It’s not like fifteen year olds can hit a quad just like that anyways…”

“I’m not going to quit!” he shouted hotly, rounding back on you. You backed up a bit, carried farther away on your skates by the sheer intensity of his glare. His voice bounced through the empty rink with an echo and when it died, he was already skating away from you. You watched as he did.

When had he gotten so spiteful? His attitude towards you had turned as hard and cold as ice so long ago that you could scarcely remember what your friendship—or relationship—had been like before. It was like Yuri Plisetsky had gone into an eternal Russian winter and the spring of the other side was non-existent. 

He took his approach and you counted automatically. One, two and a half—he landed hard before he could finish the revolutions and skidded across the ice, falling onto his side. You took a step towards him before he got up again, teeth ground with pain and concentration. You said nothing and merely watched as he fell, and fell, and fell…

…not knowing that _you_ had fallen in love with _him_ , and that each time he hit the ice or ignored your pleas to stop, your heart hurt just that much more.

\---

“I told you to rest,” you reprimanded coolly as you ripped a salt packet open for him. He was nursing his new collection of bruises, the purple and yellow flowers an assortment of fresh tattoos upon old ones. He glared at you sullenly and silently, looking away as you smeared an ointment onto arm.

“Ow!” he hissed, jerking away from you roughly as you pressed the medicine on. You ignored him and took his head in your face, rubbing the salt onto his chin. “That _hurts_!” he growled, pushing you away. He’d gotten stronger since he’d started intensive training to enter the Junior Grand Prix, and you staggered back, nearly falling onto your behind before catching yourself.

“Don’t you understand?! This hurts me too!” you shouted back, unable to keep it to yourself. He was halfway through a sip of water as he stared at you, the hot tears rolling down your numb cheeks like burning rivers.

“You’re…” He pointed at you as if unsure of what he was seeing. You balled your hands into fists and struggled to speak through the lump in your throat, the pent-up emotions of months upon months of repression breaking through at last.

“I want you to succeed, I really do. I want nothing more than to watch you skate and win but… but you’re hurting yourself all the time! I care about you and you just push me away… you only care about yourself, Yuri! I hate that! You have to let me care for you too!” 

He stared. You stared.

“Sorry,” you muttered after a long silence, your neck hot. You swiped away your tears with your sleeve and turned away from the bench. “I’ll just leave—”

“Wait.”

You stopped but kept your back to him, your body trembling with held-back rage and agonizing sadness.

“I’m the one who should be sorry…”

The genuine hurt in his voice turned you around and you were surprised to see him with a tight jaw, like he were about to start crying too. He kept speaking to the floor, his voice strained.

“I got an offer. From St. Petersburg.”

“St. Petersburg?” you repeated in disbelief. “What kind of an offer?”

“A man there wants to coach me. He thinks I can make it onto Team Russia when I turn sixteen.”

“For the Olympics?!” you gasped, all emotional burdens forgotten. “Yuri, that’s amazing—why didn’t you tell me earlier?!”

“Because it means I have to move to St. Petersburg. For a long time.” He finally looked up from his feet to you, his eyes darker than usual. “ _That’s_ why I’ve been trying to push you away. Because I have to go and I didn’t want you to be all mopey about it. But no, you’re relentless, like a dog biting my ankles, always on my ass—” he stopped to wipe the tears from his eyes, his long blond lashes fluttering frantically. “B-but I have to go.”

“…when?”

He froze and jerked his head up to look at you. The tears had started to flow again, but you were smiling. The expression seemed to take him even more off guard and he rubbed his eyes as if to make sure that what he was seeing was real.

“Wh-when? Well… the coach told me to talk to him by the end of August...”

“Okay. That means we have a month together, right?” You brushed the tears off of your face determinedly and came forwards, kneeling in front of Yuri. “You shouldn’t have tried to push me away. I’m always going to be with you. Even when you go to St. Petersburg, I’ll be with you in heart.” You placed your hand over your chest for emphasis. “You’re in mine already.”

Yuri was quiet for a moment before yelling out in frustration, startling you. He kicked his feet up and spun around on the bench, clutching his head in his hands.

“Y-Yuri?!” you asked in confusion, but he was already shouting.

“How can you just spout out sappy shit like that?!” 

He sighed, the sharp movement collapsing his lithe frame. He looked up after a minute and turned back around to glare at you. Slowly, he spun back around on the bench until he faced you. He reached forwards, snatched your hand and placed it on his chest. You felt his heartbeat rage underneath your fingertips.

“Fine,” he breathed. “I’ll go to St. Petersburg. And I’ll be the best. As long as you’re _here_.” For emphasis he pushed your hand into him, your fingers curling around the tight fabric of his shirt. “Okay?!” He spoke in English now, your native tongue, and you grinned through tears once again.

“Okay. It’s a promise.”


	5. [v ; diamond dust]

“You remembered your clothes?” you asked frantically, standing up with him as the boarding call was PA’d in Russian and English. “All of them? And what about your laptop and charger? And your phone charger! And a spare headphone set. Oh, don’t forget sunscreen, and lotion—”

“I already told you for _months_ , I _have_ everything. God, woman, can’t you leave me alone? I’m not incompetent!” he complained, jerking his arm out of yours as you reached out to re-position his jacket. “I’m older than you, too. Stop acting like my goddamn mother!”

“Sorry, sorry.” You shifted. His family had come to see him off too but stood a respectful distance away, obviously waiting for you to finish. You racked your brain for what to say. Despite knowing that this day would be coming so long ago, you still didn’t know what to say. There were too many things _to_ say. Yuri raised an expectant eyebrow at you and you merely sighed with defeat, shoulders slumping. You gave him a wry smile.

“Good luck. Take care of yourself. Do your best.”

“Of course,” he muttered smarmily, rolling his eyes. “Am I going all the way to St. Petersburg to do my ‘okay’? God, you’re dumb.” 

You laughed. It was him, all right. He’d never change, and you never wanted him to.

“Listen,” he said suddenly, the jarring change of language taking you off guard. You quieted and listened to his every word, his syllables awkward in English but evidently practiced.

“I am counting on you to cheer for me. I will be the best so… just watch me.”

You smiled and in Russian, replied,

“I know you will. I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Your worry kicked in again and you were already ranting before you could stop yourself. “Remember to drink water and eat 3 meals a day. Call me if you get lonely! Or whenever, I’ll pick up. And—”

“You don’t shut up,” he scowled. His eyes darted back to where his family was. You were about to turn back to look at them and see what was up when he leant forwards, a chaste kiss landing smack dab on the middle of your lips. It was nothing like the one you’d gotten in fifth grade—this one was purposeful, and the spark coming from his cool touch made your heart freeze. 

“Yuri?” you asked breathlessly as he pulled away, pushing hair out of his face. He was blushing, his face an angry red, but his words were still laced with the signature Plisetsky cockiness.

“That’s for good luck. When I get back, I’ll have so many wins that I’ll be famous, and you’ll be damn jealous.” He jabbed a finger into the middle of your chest, pushing you back a step. “I’m going to be the best, so keep me in your heart. Don’t you dare forget about me! You hear?!”

You took your hands and clasped them around his, clutching his fingers. “I couldn’t ever.”

You waved at him until he was out of sight, and even then you had your face pressed up against the glass window as his plane took off. His family laughed at you as they took you home, but you didn’t care. You pressed a palm to your heart as you sat in the backseat, your eyes turned up to the sky. Snow twirled from the grey clouds, the sun breaking through for a split second. 

Snowflakes melted when you touched them. They were delicate and original, each the same but not quite. Yuri was one of his own. He couldn’t even compare. He was fire. He wasn’t hard or cold like the ice or the winters but he was indomitable and he was spirit—he was the boy you loved. 

He was with you and you were with him. 

__

“If ever there is tomorrow when we’re not together… there is something you must always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we’re apart… I’ll always be with you.”   
A.A. Milne

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: https://goo.gl/iq6mKG


End file.
